


Peripheral

by kres



Series: Series Four Daisy (Chain) [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kres/pseuds/kres
Summary: "You have sixteen more minutes."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoStraightLine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStraightLine/gifts).



"You're going, don't go yet," Sherlock says, lifting his eyes from the laptop.

At the door, John stops, one foot halfway inside a shoe. "What?"

"You have sixteen more minutes," Sherlock says. 

John's brows draw together, like it's a real puzzle. "Why?" 

Sherlock looks at him. John looks ragged, worn thin, like he hasn't had enough sleep for weeks. Sherlock knows what that looks like, because he's seen himself after Serbia (and Milan, and Singapore), in mirrors, in store displays, in occasional blades.

He waits, watching John.

John sighs. "Fine." He slips off the shoe, slides it back next to the other one, and looks at Sherlock. "Indulge me."

Sherlock, obediently, indulges.

"Mrs Hudson goes to the kitchen precisely three minutes after Rosie has fallen asleep. She stays in the kitchen for ten minutes, making tea or coffee or whatever else the day calls for, and then she turns on the telly. She watches for about eighteen minutes before she gets up to go to the bathroom. The water pipe is in the wall right next to the crib, and the noise it makes is rather dreadfully loud. Mrs Hudson turned on the telly two minutes ago, which gives you sixteen more minutes before you can go downstairs, otherwise you will wake Rosie too early, and you know how peculiar she is about that."

He takes a breath, and looks at John. John is watching him. His face is open, but he is curling his left hand into a-- no, he's just brushing his fingertips against his palm.

"Three minutes?" he says.

Sherlock watches him. 

Mrs Hudson spends those three minutes making sure that Rosie is breathing. Sherlock doesn't see the point in saying this. 

"Yes," he says.

John nods, like he understands anyway. "And you know where Rosie is and what she's doing--"

"Every minute she's here, yes, of course, John. Why wouldn't I?"

John begins to look away then, but Sherlock has gotten better at drawing John's attention back round (and away from), so he won't allow it.

"John?" he says. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," says John. He's gotten better at evading, naturally. (This must be a balance, of sorts, Sherlock supposes, even if he doesn't particularly like it.) "I--" says John. "Nothing. Just." He sighs, and looks at Sherlock again. His eyes are bright. "Sixteen minutes, you said?"

"Fifteen and a half now," says Sherlock.

John laughs. His shoulders shake with it. Sherlock watches him. He watches John rub his face, his eyes. Watches him run a hand through his hair. John is a very tactile person, when it comes down to it. (Which it, frequently, does.)

"Chamomile," says Sherlock.

John lifts his bright - and confused, now - eyes to him. "What?"

"Tea," Sherlock clarifies, although really, it should be obvious. "Chamomile, for me. Now that you have extra time."

John looks at him for a moment, as he is wont to do, and then he smiles again, easy, and, still smiling, goes into the kitchen. 

Sherlock watches him, and turns back to his laptop just before John turns to look.


End file.
